


Stop The Noise (I Can't Take It)

by Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams



Series: Collaborations, Prompts and Requests [26]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angry!Jim, Brief mentions of torture, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Blame Tumblr, I'm a doctor not a therapist, M/M, Torture and Cuddles, Tumblr made me do it, hurt!Bones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams/pseuds/Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>theladyprinceofthegalaxy: Jim Kirk thought the only thing that would piss him off to the point of incoherence was someone murdering his loved ones.<br/>Then he heard Bones scream in pain for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop The Noise (I Can't Take It)

**Author's Note:**

> This ship snuck into my life and possessed my mind  
> I'm sleep deprived, I've never written for this fandom and I have no idea what I'm doing, so please excuse any mistakes and drop a review?

They are in the middle of what appears to be a wasteland of twisted metal and choking sand and Jim is struck with the all too familiar realization that he is probably going to die. This would be fine--acceptable really--if he was the only one kneeling on the ground, knees dusty and aching with a gun pointed at the back of his head. Except he’s not. He’s not and Jim can’t accept that; can’t stand letting others take the fall for him, even if they’d followed him down the path to hell willingly.

He tries desperately to convey to their captors that they mean no harm; that they were just collecting supplies _honest_ ; that if they must insist on killing them then to _please_ , just let his friend go, _let Bones_ go--But there’s not enough words in his expansive vocabulary, not in english, not in any of the languages he knows, and Jim finds himself cursing his supposedly brilliant mind because what good is it if he can’t even learn enough of a foreign language to save one of the few people who have stood by him through all his shit?

The gun nudges into his head, hard enough to make him duck forward and there is a series of harsh vowels and angry letters. Jim is searching, struggling to look over, to find Bones’ eyes, to beg forgiveness that he is always grudgingly given; but the grip on his arms is tight and the gun is unforgiving against his skull and once again, Jim is so fucking _helpless_ , all of his genius and personality whittled down to this; a pathetic human shell as he kneels before the enemy, his best friend about to die because he’d wanted to explore, wanted to go everywhere and anywhere and Bones wouldn’t let him go alone.

“I’m sorry,” Jim thinks he whispers, angry tears stinging his eyes at his own foolishness which has once again, cost someone else. He’s done so much harm in his lifetime, wrecked so much havoc, and he’s so sorry, so sorry for everything and everyone that he’s hurt but it’s worthless because it was never enough to stop before, never enough to reign himself in and stop being the over exuberant and cocky James Tiberius Kirk that everyone both scorned and envied.

There is the sound of thumping footsteps to his left, the click of metal and then a tortured sound that has Jim’s very being freeze.

It takes a moment to place that sound, so foreign and yet familiar in the undertones, in the notes, and then Jim isn’t sorry at all, doesn’t have the room for it, because he’s fucking _furious_. His head is yanked up, fingers carded into his hair cruely and all Jim can do is snarl and shake as the scream dies out in Bones’ throat, blood slipping down his arm to pool in the dry sand.

The next words are mocking, a hint of laughter in their attacker’s mouths and Jim is going to _kill them all_ , _going to watch them burn and_ laugh, _because_ they _did this, made Bones bleed and scream, something Jim has never heard before, not like that, not in such pain and they will regret the day they ever_ touched _someone so dear to his heart_.

They do it again, the soft hum of a sword cutting through air barely a warning before it comes down on the medical officer’s arm once more, eliciting another strained cry and Jim practically sobs in anger, jerking and losing large chunks of hair for his efforts. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this angry, can’t remember ever wanting someone so dead in all his life except maybe Khan and Jim writhes on the sand, hands claws behind his back and blood pounding. He may not know their language, may not be able to answer their words with his own, but the language of fists and blood he knows, and if given the chance he will make them master students; will punch until their bones crunch and buckle and blood runs in rivers down their faces; will make them scream and reward their torture with his own ten-fold. They will not _exist_ when he is done with them.

Bones screams again, though it is through clenched teeth and burning eyes, shoulders tense. His arms are straining against the man holding his wrists, and Jim knows that he wants to check his wounds, to bandage them before any “godforsaken disease could do something like turn his insides to mush”.

“Bones,” he whispers, wishing so badly to be able to touch the other male; to shield him. “Bones, it’ll be alright--”

Another whistle, faster this time, and Bones is jerking, face contorting and throat emitting a strained groan. There is laughter, and then a ringing of conversation overhead and suddenly Jim is shoved forward into his friend without preminable and they’re all but forgotten for a moment, as he grips at bleeding flesh frantically, voice a chant of “Bones, Bones, Bones” and _please no, don’t let them be fatal._

Bones is barely grunting out an “I’m fine” before hands are grabbing at them once more, and all Jim can do is kick and snarl and jerk before he is smacked across the face, hard enough for his ears to ring. When he comes back to himself they are holding Bones’ arms out, leering down at his hands and Jim doesn’t understand until they reach for a slender finger, gripping and yanking and Jim screams with Bones, screams until his throat bleeds and all he is is _rageangerpainrageangerpain_ and _youwill **pay** doyouhearme?!_ You will fucking **PAY**!

He doesn’t remember much after that, just that he comes to with Spock’s voice in his ear, bodies strewn around him in the sand and blood splattering his once clean uniform. ‘Bones’ is the first word he emits, lost and still so fucking _angry_.

At Spock’s reassurances of the doctor being safe Jim finally begins to come back to himself, concern overtaking anger. After all, vulcans don’t lie.

* * *

The soft beep of machines is almost depressingly soothing and Jim is struck with the sudden realization that of all their time together, he has never seen Bones in a hospital bed, but rather, as the one standing by it. What he would do to have their roles reversed.

“Morning, princess,” Jim greats as cheerfully as he can muster once the doctor’s eyes begin to flutter open. “I was beginning to think I’d have to kiss you awake.”

“Idiot,” Bones mutters, tired and fondly exasperated as he examines the splints on his fingers.

“They’ll heal,” Jim says, quietly now, eyes solemn. “I was worried that they… that you wouldn’t… but it’ll be fine, or so I’m told. You’re the doctor.”

“They will.” Bones agrees, scowl twisting his features. “I didn’t think I’d be thankful for anything that those bastards did, but I am now.” He looks up at the captain then, and his eyes widen as he seems to take in the other male for the first time. “Jim?”

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispers, swaying forward to press his face into the sheets next to Bones’ side. “I’m so sorry--” His voice hitches then and he falls silent, taking great, shuddering breaths in an effort to calm himself. He can still feel the rage, can hear the screams, and he is haunted by the sounds of cracking bones.

A hand brushes through his hair and Jim startles. “Darlin’, if you apologized for every situation you’ve gotten yourself into we’d be here for days.” The words are a mixture of fond exasperation and the captain could almost cry at the familiarity; at the sense of home.

“It wasn’t just me though,” he whispers, pressing into the touch as he slid his eyes up to the other male. And _that_ , that is what’s really got him; that Bones’ screams were on him, that he could have been cursed with mangled hands, unable to do what he loved, what he was meant to do.

Bones tugs gently on Jim’s hair. “I made the choice, Jim.” He reminds, gentle as he can be on those occasions where Jim needs more than fond insults. “I came and the consequences are on me. So stop blaming yourself because dammit man, I’m a doctor, not a therapist.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” Jim questions cheekily, flashing a small smile.

The doctor pulls him up with a scoff, biting at his grinning mouth. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Damsel in distress,” Jim returns laughingly, earning a shove.

Bones’ growled “Get out.” is dismissed with smiling eyes and the captain slid into the small bed, curling into the doctor’s side like the cats Bones was allergic too. Bones found himself sliding his splinted fingers through hair like spun gold after that, eyes slipping closed with a tired sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear.”

Jim’s fingers curl around one of his hands. “Don’t you remember, Bones?” He whispers, soft and sleepy. “I promised I wouldn’t let you die.”

“Yeah,” The doctor says after a pause, quiet and thoughtful. “You did.”

Jim smiles slowly and cuddles closer.

**Author's Note:**

> It shouldn't be possible to love a ship so much after so little time


End file.
